A Night As Dark As Blood
by Adelina Le Morte March
Summary: One dark night, Merlin makes a poor choice that comes back to haunt him in a most unexpected way. Will he tell the truth and accept the dangers and pain it will bring to Camelot? Or will he find another way to set things right? DARK AU. One-shot. Some lightly implied George/Drea; implied Merlin/Freya (if you've got your Freylin goggles on...); implied Arthur/Gwen.


**A/N: Takes place sometime between _Lancelot Du Lac_ and _The Hunter's Heart_, season four. Dark-themed AU. Rated T for thematic elements. One-shot.**

_A Night As Dark as Blood_

or

_Drea's Story_

Merlin doesn't know what to do. They won't be able to hide it much longer.

The girl, Drea, is beginning to show. There can be no denying it, no hoping it isn't so, for a baby is definitely growing inside of her.

There is also no reason to suspect she won't carry the child to term. She's a small girl, perhaps, willowy and petite by nature, possibly not as well nourished as a noble lady, or a castle serving-girl, but that misfortune aside, Gaius believes she's healthy enough. Of course, she hasn't come to him about it yet; he simply_ sees_, just as any man could. But he remembers the night Merlin helped the girl, weeping and limping, into his chambers, blood on her plain peasant-style petticoat.

The old physician doesn't even need to count on his fingers to know his guess is quite right.

Poor Drea, though. Not long ago, she'd lost her whole family to the Dorocha. For a while she was nothing but a fleetingly forgotten refugee. At first, quite a sensation among people, royal and common alike, then ignored. Once the Dorocha were gone for good, no one wanted to remember them. Or spend time with a girl who'd come so perilously near to them. Bad luck, some thought her. The castle-folk, they had other diversions, and had never been the desolate girl's main audience to begin with.

She's been living in Gwen's house since she was exiled, renting it from the solicitor Arthur numbly signed over the rights to after the woman who was almost, not merely_ Gwen_, but_ Queen Guinevere_, was banished from Camelot. She would not return, Drea was brusquely told when she asked what was to become of her should the former occupant find her way back to Camelot in the future.

Apparently, the would-be queen's exile was on pain of death, should she try to return.

This didn't make Drea very easy, or more at home. She was frightened of ghosts, more than most people. Who was to say the serving-girl who used to live in that house wouldn't die of a broken heart (every story Drea had ever heard as a child where a king broke all bonds with his lady ended that way, after all) and come back as an angry spirit to haunt the place?

In the end, she'd flung back the covers, convinced there was magical ice gathering at her feet, and run towards the citadel.

She meant only to race to the physician, the one who had briefly but kindly comforted her after the death of her family, for rumour held that he'd used to make sleeping draughts for Morgana, sister of the king, back when she was welcome in Camelot. _She_ had supposedly suffered from nightmares, too. All Drea wished for was to beg of him one of these draughts, for her own consumption. Else, she thought she mightn't sleep soundly ever again.

Alas, it was the worst mistake Drea would ever make, going there, unescorted, at that late hour.

For she found the king's manservant, Merlin, there.

At first she'd thought it might be George, another castle servant, who'd once been appointed acting manservant to the king when Merlin had gone missing. He still worked there, though the king never summoned him, never seemed even to remember his existence.

The last time Drea had seen King Arthur acknowledge George had been quite some time ago. Punishing Merlin for some offense, he'd hired George on as an instructor of sorts, requiring his manservant to endure his tutelage. Drea herself did not think this so cruel a punishment. George was dull, perhaps, but not a bad fellow when all was said and done. He'd tried telling her a joke once, when she'd been sad about her family. And even though she didn't understand the punchline (something to do with brass), it was the thought that counted in her eyes; she'd laughed anyway.

Since then, King Arthur and Merlin had gone about their business without giving a second thought to George.

As it was after hours, and George always retired at the same time every night, Drea shouldn't have been surprised to see it was Merlin who met her there.

"Would you be willing to do something for me?" Merlin asked. "A favor?"

No one had wanted Drea to do anything for them, no more than they wanted to do anything for _her_, in ages. So she'd nodded, listening to the rest of his proposition. It was simple enough, so she agreed. Her_ second _big mistake that night...

"All right," Merlin had said, sounding relieved. "Follow me."

Drea had almost been _excited_, as she followed him. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. _This_ was the kind of memory you wanted to have in a castle, not blubbing in front of the king because you were the sole survivor of a supernatural massacre...

What would she say to him? Would he expect her to stay long? She really knew very little about men. Perhaps she was meant to keep quiet, let him say and do as he would. Yes, that was the way. Probably. Would it be wrong to _ask _Merlin?

Her excitement faded into thin air the moment the chamber doors closed behind her. Suddenly all she wanted was to be back in bed, cold and alone with her nightmares. A night of pacing, of sitting by a fire of embers, seemed preferable to this. She was just a silly, stupid girl with no sense. She was not Lady Drea, but Maid Drea the peasant. Nothing good could come of this.

Why in heaven's name had she let Merlin talk her into this?

Still, she didn't blame the manservant for what happened, hours later, when he took her to Gauis.

She didn't bother asking for her sleeping draught then. The blood concerned her more. Her mother had told her of virgin's blood, so it was not completely unexpected, but that it should be so _much_... Surely that was not good?

Also, it had _hurt_. Mostly it was the shock that upset her, when it went from strong kisses and caresses to_ that_... Even when he had put her on the bed and rolled on top of her, she had been near blind to what was coming. An experienced woman would have known from the first kiss, how sloppy it was and how strongly of wine it tasted. Only Drea knew nothing of such things. Of men and their drinks. She'd only had wine for stomachaches growing up, never for pleasure. And no man had ever tried to touch her before that night.

Shame that a woman of noble birth would not have bothered feeling overwhelmed Drea as Gaius made certain she was all right. He assured her the blood would clot on its own soon enough.

"I am so sorry, Drea," Merlin said, blinking back tears. "I had no idea this would happen."

She hadn't been able to speak. She'd wanted to tell him she held no anger against him for this, but her throat was dry; it hurt to speak.

"Please," she'd finally managed. "I want to go home. Please take me home."

"Merlin," Gaius had said, taking off his glasses, "see to it she gets home safely."

Merlin had helped Drea up out of the chair she'd been sitting in and guided her through the corridors, back into the lower town, straight to Gwen's old house.

People had seen, in the murky moonlight, Arthur's manservant, helping a limping, disheveled girl through the town. Merlin was aware they saw, but hadn't thought anything of it. Surely no one would gossip over someone they really knew so little about... Merlin himself was often the brunt of jokes, but most of them had to do with woman's _clothes_ rather than women themselves, and lengthy trips to the tavern, most of these stories originating from Arthur's mouth more often than not. And masters could talk of their servants any way they liked without meaning anything much by it. As for Drea, no one talked about her at all, these days. She was unimportant, didn't matter. To Merlin, everyone was important, they all mattered, but most people didn't think like that. For once, he'd assumed this would work in his favor.

No, it had not.

For now Drea was pregnant, and more and more people were coming to know it.

Merlin had been surprised by the little whisperings that had already begun. King Arthur's servant, seen in the dead of night with a girl -an _unmarried_ girl- who was now seemingly with child... Soon more than a couple housewives from the lower town would be whispering they'd seen her go up to the castle, from their lighted windows.

Oh, yes, once _that _became common knowledge, the gossip would really get rolling.

Drea had gone to see Arthur's servant, and had come back -with his help, no less- in such a state.

Everyone except Gauis, who alone knows the truth, will soon think it is certainly Merlin's child growing in Drea's belly.

Even the knights.

Arthur, too, perhaps, oddly enough.

_Arthur_, who should know better than anyone whose loins this particular unborn baby came from...

And Gwaine would have lots to say.

_Gwaine_, who was, indirectly, also involved in what happened that night!

What happens, Merlin wonders, panic rising, if he claims this child as his own? Will he be forced to _marry _Drea? Truth is, the only woman Merlin could see himself marrying has been mostly dead for some years now. Not to mention living somewhere under the lake of Avalon...

What if, instead, he tells the truth? Worse. _Much_ worse. Someone believes him, and the child -and Drea by default- becomes a target for Camelot's enemies. Morgana would have a field day with such a bargaining chip on her hands. Agravaine wouldn't hesitate to help. He's dangerous. It was he, after all, who arranged for Arthur to see Gwen and Lancelot together. He got rid of Gwen, and so easily. Drea and her unborn child would be a piece of cake for a ruthless man like him. No one would question if she suddenly disappeared. Or no one believes, and they think him insane. A lose-lose situation.

There must be a way out of this, for all of them, there _must_, Merlin thinks, pacing the corridors.

The cold hand of memory sweeps down on him, and he remembers everything about that night.

Starting from before Drea's arrival.

Arthur had been miserable. He wouldn't admit he was thinking of -and _missing_- Gwen, and he didn't have to. It was written all over his face. Everyone knew.

Everyone knew he was taking her betrayal, and his own sentence passed on her for it, very hard.

No one better than Merlin, who watched his master consume far more wine at supper than was usual for him to partake of, and then order another bottle, freshly opened, to be brought to his chambers immediately after.

Merlin tried to convince him to take it easy, but Arthur just brushed him off.

Somehow, drink had just made the king even _more_ miserable. He was lonely and irritable, and yet too disheartened even to throw anything at Merlin when he tripped over an empty chamber pot and accidentally flung Arthur's favorite goblet out the window.

Merlin had never seen Arthur like that before, it was horrible and heart-wrenching. Arthur was his friend, and he wanted to help him. If only he knew _how_.

He'd wound up, while carrying some laundry down to the kitchens to wash the next morning, bumping into Gwaine.

When he told Gwaine of Arthur's sorry state, Gwaine suggested what he himself would have wanted in Arthur's place: female company. "He misses Gwen," he'd said, as though the solution was obvious. "Have a _woman _come and sit with him for a while. Arthur's a man, he'll find comfort in that."

"There aren't many ladies at court at the moment," Merlin pointed out.

"Merlin!" Gwaine had laughed, slapping his shoulder. "She doesn't have to be a noblewoman. You really think Arthur could tell the difference in the state he's in?"

"So what? You're suggesting I just find some girl in the lower town to come here and sit and talk to him for a couple hours?"

Gwaine shrugged. "Yeah, more or less. It'll make him feel better, trust me."

As it turned out, Merlin hadn't had to go far to find one. Drea was coming to see Gaius. She seemed like a nice girl, surely she wouldn't mind keeping her king company for a bit?

Again and again, Merlin wished he hadn't left when Arthur drunkenly dismissed him. Or, at least, that he'd taken Drea out _with_ him.

Arthur was so drunk he didn't even know who Drea_ was_. Even if he did vaguely remember the girl he'd spoken softly to after her village was attacked, he wouldn't have known her for the same one in the room with him then.

He didn't know what he was doing when, alone with her, he'd begun kissing her. It reminded him of something -of better times- and he lost his already numb and unreachable self in the fuzzy sensation coursing through his veins.

It wasn't rape. Not really. Drea liked it at first. The attention was flattering, making her pulse quicken. She'd admired the king, when he'd spoken to her so kindly, what felt like so long ago, with such gentle words. Part of her even fancied him. Nothing could come of that, she knew. He was older than her, for one thing, and it had been well known the love he had for his sister's former maidservant, for another.

Not to mention he was a king and she was a poor orphan of no account...

But when he'd started kissing her, that night, Drea had almost let herself hope. King Arthur was her first kiss. No one's lips had ever touched hers before his. And for all his drunken slurs and clumsiness, he hadn't been brutish. There had been a gentleness even to the most forceful of the kisses.

When she'd finally realized -far too late- how far he wanted to go, she didn't stop him.

She hadn't cried, even when it hurt. The first tear that fell from her eyes came only when she heard Arthur moan, "_Guinevere_," and she came back to herself, knowing then how stupid she had been.

Only _then_ did she let herself weep.

Merlin knew Arthur hadn't forced himself on Drea. Not entirely, anyway. Even drunk as a skunk, Merlin knew his friend better than that. Arthur wouldn't have raped a girl who pushed him away, no matter _how_ heavily intoxicated he'd been. But Drea was a timid girl, one who wouldn't have known how to say no to a king even if she'd wanted to. He didn't need Drea's words to tell him Arthur was as innocent as Drea herself, but her claim that she'd_ let_ it happen -that she'd _wanted_ him- didn't do anything to lessen Merlin's own guilt in the matter.

Drea wouldn't have screamed or denied a king if her life depended on it. She'd never been taught to.

Arthur, for his part, had no idea what happened. If anything, he thought he _dreamed_ of kissing a woman (he didn't say it was Gwen, though in his mind it had been) and fallen into a drunken stupor.

He didn't see the sheets Merlin rolled quickly into a ball as soon as Arthur was out of bed, clutching at his pounding head... He hadn't heard, much earlier, the whisperings of his manservant to the girl who'd been lying in the king's bed, barely dressed, shaking like a leaf... Nor the sound of the door creaking as he took her to see Gaius...

Arthur had no reason in the world to think Drea's baby was his. And Merlin intended to keep it that way. Drea, at least, would say nothing, but that didn't fix the fact that_ he_ was in deep now.

For _someone_ has to claim this baby. _Someone_ has to perhaps wed Drea and be a father her child, supporting them both.

Then Merlin sees it. The way out. He's passing by the armoury, and there's a man in there, happily and skillfully polishing a gauntlet.

_George. _

Merlin has seen George looking at Drea out of the corner of his eye sometimes. Those moments when Drea is close are the only ones when George doesn't look blank, like there's nothing going on in his head apart from whatever task is next on his list of daily chores.

Once, Merlin could have sworn George_ smiled_ at her. Everyone else thought it was a wince, that the sun was in his eyes, but Merlin knew a smile like that when he saw one.

George _likes_ her...

Does Drea like _him _as well? Merlin thinks so. Why else would she have giggled at his brass joke?

And if the common folk at least can be convinced George is the father of Drea's baby...

After all, the whispers were of _Arthur's manservant_ leading Drea home that night. Everyone automatically assumed _Merlin_, but perhaps they'd been confused... The shadows of the moon could have been jesting with them, and George _did_ dress not dissimilar in style to Merlin. He had even been officially Arthur's manservant for about a day... And he worked at the castle, and spent more time around Drea than Merlin was ever seen to.

The baby in Drea's belly had about as much chance of being born looking like _Merlin _as the baker's baby two doors down. But a blonde, fair-skinned baby... Who in their right minds would think _King Arthur_ when George was fair of hair and skin as well? If the baby was a little better looking than his 'father', well, that could be attributed to_ Drea's_ side of the family. She was a pretty lass.

If George marries Drea, the whispers of_ Merlin_ will stop within the week...

More importantly, the child will be safe. Morgana and Agravaine have no cause to harm it than they do any other random babe sucking at its mother's breast.

King Arthur would never need to know what he'd done that night...

"George," says Merlin, entering the armoury. "Have you got a minute?"

George sets the gleaming gauntlet, finished to perfection, aside. "Certainly."


End file.
